ZDays of our Lives
by ZekkietheOutcast
Summary: The adventures of an OC group of survivors and their adventures both alive and undead in the L4D universe. Gorey, occasionally comedic, and full of secrets, I do hope you enjoy. RATED M FOR LATER ENCOUNTERS GORE, CURSING, SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS, AND EGREGIOUS DEATH/INJURY
1. The Survivors

"This is barbaric."

The zombies below milled around aimlessly, some had even laid down or sat upon the ground, resting in the midday heat. The barrel of the sniper rifle eased down to one in particular, a male, shoes missing, business suit torn and dirtied beyond any hope of redemption.

"Oh come on, that one isn't even moving!"

The sniper ignored the complaint and intoned, "Left foot, Achilles heel."

The woman scoffed, "Like you can hit that, he's across the courtyard!"

The trigger emitted a click, then the crack of the rifle shot destroyed the monotonous background moaning of the countless undead in the court.

The businessman's left foot detached from his body, and he stared at it with a dazed look of shock.

Reacting to the sound, for only humanity made that sound anymore, the undead swarmed, running about, searching for the source of the sound. A few began climbing the building after scenting the pungent aroma of sweat and weeks of grime gone unwashed.

The woman got up, shifting uncomfortably, "Why do you stir them up like this…we could get killed!"

The toothpick in the snipers mouth bobbed as she chewed on it, "Only one way to test my defenses. I'm sure they can hear your bitchin' from here, you know."

The woman shut up, and retreated to the doorway leading into the building. The sniper remained and cocked the rifle. It was a large one, meant to shoot from anywhere between 100 yards and obliterating the target, to a mile away and still destroying pretty much anything it hit.

The businessman was now missing his entire shin, but the left foot was intact, and that was how the game went.

The courtyard was populated with many walking zombies, but if one looked one could see a good number all had mysteriously missing legs, and were crawling around using only their hands.

The sniper shot at another, and hissed in annoyance as the foot was obliterated by the force of the bullet. The bones were crunched to fragments and the flesh to something akin to oatmeal.

The thought made Kat chuckle, McKayla wouldn't appreciate the image of some of their few rations applied in such a way.

The prissy bitch had been complaining ever since the seal had saved her ass from the mall. Idiot had gone there trusting the officials to help them evacuate. Lo and behold the choppers left prematurely and stranded the woman in possibly the worst place to be outside the hospitals.

Here they were safe, secure, and armed to the teeth. Kat was rather enjoying herself atop the gun store, watching those with limb enough to crawl up the building meeting messy ends at the lines of barbed wire extending from every inch of the wall. Those who climber over the bodies of their brethren found themselves in contact with electrified metal sheeting.

God Kat loved this gun store. There was a mechanic shop just across the street and she'd abused the spare parts with glee.

Honestly, this was more fun than the time she'd spent in the navy.

Less hot guys in swim shorts and speedos, but hey, at least she got to shoot this baby. This gun, that is…why would she think of shooting babies?

The lean blonde got to her feet and peered over her barricade and winced.

The damn bodies were piling up. She'd have to move them, which meant sending McKayla out to create a distraction, and that bitch was an eternal damsel if she'd ever seen one.

Idiot just froze whenever she saw a horde, and she'd actually broken down crying after seeing a Special.

Kat picked up a half-drunk bottle of scotch and dipped a rag into it. She set it alight and dropped it down to the ground below.

She thought she heard a growl, and got the fuck out of there, packing the sniper up and fleeing into the stairwell. She latched the reinforced door with locks of all kinds, and set up the tripwires.

Better to blow up the bastards and themselves than become one of them, that's for sure.

She rejoined McKayla in the 1st floor.

There were no more windows.

Once news of the first few infections came out, Kat had wasted no time in boarding the windows, stripping metal from her customers cars to reinforce the barricade, and then just to be sure, pouring concrete into the mix.

So long as they stayed quiet, no infected would bother trying to get in, and no Specials would be any wiser. Tanks were few, but she feared those the most.

They could tear through her defenses like paper, and she honestly didn't know how to stop them short of digging a moat.

The time for that type of work had passed, they hadn't left the building in weeks.

McKayla was fiddling with the radio again, headphones securely attached to her head.

The girl had uses, despite the whiny attitude accompanying everything she said. Kat hadn't understood how the Hunters kept knowing where they were until the girl had shown up and pointed out that they could both smell and hear with the tenacity of dogs.

Of all the specials, they were the few who knew they were here. The normal zombies had memories like goldfish. After a few hours of quiet they forgot that they'd even been shot at.

"Anything?"

McKayla shook her head, taking the headphones off and huffing. "I feel gross, we can't stay here forever. Rations are getting low and I desperately need a shower."

After nearly three weeks, Kat could no longer shut down such silly complaints. They were both getting rather dirty, and even though Kat had spent months washing in nothing but salt and occasionally bottled water, she had to agree.

Filth and Grime coated her skin, and at times she got so itchy she scratched until she drew blood.

Kat hated the idea of leaving, though. She was safe in her fortress. She was out of any danger, and in complete control. Every once in a while, she had to go get more petrol from the mechanics shop but those missions were planned, strategized so that there was as little risk as possible.

Showers though…showers meant residences, where people lived. People that were no longer human.

She found herself digging her nails into her palms and stopped. Half moon scars littered her palms, a testament to the days before all of this.

This was not the time nor the place to lose it again.

"Where do you suggest we go?"

McKayla was brought up short, she'd never known the seal to ask he opinion on things. She braced herself for her ideas to be shot down, and said quickly, "A house. It's small, closed in, if it has a basement we can hide in there for a few days-"

Kat nodded gravely, then asked, quietly, strangely sober, "And how do you suppose we get there? We are in the middle of an overcrowded commercial area. Alone or with a large group, I'd do it, but with just us two…"

Mckalya gulped, "We'd be dead."

Kat walked into the back room where they'd piled towels, blankets, anything soft and cushioned really to make up their beds.

Mckayla persisted, "It's dangerous but we have to do something! We cant stay here forever! You had training in this sort of thing, you should know this!"

Kat flinched, then sighed. "It still stands, we can't possibly hold our own against a horde. The second I start opening the door they'll hear us."

McKayla threw up her hands, "so instead of I don't know, trying something you're going to sit in here twiddling your thumbs pretending we aren't out of food? There is a garage full of cars right across the street!"

"Is there?"

McKayla didn't hear the tiny voice, but Kat did, and she ran to the radio.

"Hello?!"

"Hey…I couldn't help but hear your rather loud argument and I think I can help."

"Hail Mary there's someone out there." Kat pressed the headphones to her ears, soaking in the sound of another voice.

"Yeah, we're trapped in the gun shop, right next to a garage. Where are you?"

"I'm a few blocks from there, in an hotel complex. I still have food from all of the other tenants, but I don't have any weapons."

"What's he saying? Let me hear! I'm more of a people person than you!"

McKayla tried to shove Kat out of the chair but the stronger woman pushed her away.

"What does your defense look like? How secure are you?"

"Not really all that secure. I trapped most of the zombies on the higher floors, used the dumbwaiter to move from one area to the other. They haven't heard me yet, so they don't explore the smaller spaces. …I suggest if you do come here to shut the fuck up."

Kat laughed, feeling her cheer coming back. "I'll do you the favor of killing the bastards."

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to gather up their supplies and arming themselves to the teeth. Kat felt some misgivings about this, they were, after all, abandoning their safe haven, but even she realized that the place was growing stagnant. All of the defenses in the world were nothing if it meant that they'd starve and dehydrate to death.

She'd also been developing a cough that was worrying her. There was bound to be drugs at the place, and once she figured out just how much fortification the place offered she could always improve it.

The mechanic grinned with grim joy. It also meant someone else to talk to who didn't complain about every little inglorious thing they had to do to stay alive.

At least she hoped the kid wasn't like that. Something in his voice told her otherwise.

After gathering up their few rations and gutting the place of guns, she and McKayla stared at each other for a moment, knowing this was perhaps their last moments of peace for a long while, and Kat got to work opening up the door.

* * *

Jones hated his last name. But with an unspeakable first name, and his old nickname was now rather unfortunate, Jones was all he had left.

He considered just choosing a new name. It no longer mattered if his driver's license was inaccurate. The only problem was that Jones had the imagination of a lemming. He had no idea what he wanted his new name to be.

Lying in his hammock, he contemplated this, trying and failing to distract himself from the cramped windowless laundry room he'd been camped in for the last week.

It was one of the few rooms that had stone, and a thickset door. After being rudely awakened by all forms of zombie bursting through cheap, thin plaster Jones had smartened up and slept only in the laundry room or kitchens, where there was more than a few inches of Styrofoam and false walling protecting him.

He glanced at the radio he'd only recently discovered, and smiled. The two broads he'd found were on their way with weaponry, hoping for food and running water. They sounded colorful, one had a curt, short voice, and the other sounded rather bubbly.

After weeks of seeing only the most gruesome sights some nice, living women wouldn't be too bad.

Not bad at all, in fact.

As it stood, Jones should probably not be in his boxers when he met them. He'd have to go find his clothes.

It was hot as balls in the hotel, as the electricity had cut out, and a generator was much too noisy for his current situation.

Jones climbed out of his hammock and searched through the washers for some clothes. He was amazed at how many people had been caught in the middle of laundry day when the infection sped through the city, faster than a wildfire, and slammed full force into the hotel.

As it was, he had been simply wearing whatever the hell he liked, even hazarding a skirt or two just to see how it was.

Not that he was gay or anything. He just wanted to see what it was like. There wasn't anyone to see, no one to judge, and…well…he'd been BORED. It'd been wonderfully breezy and comfy.

One could only do so many pushups and pull-ups and squat thrusts before one got godawful bored.

He found himself missing the ability to play on his PS3 and sighed. If only if only.

Maybe he could name himself after one of his favorite characters...no…no…that'd be stupid. Damn.

A slithering sound caught his attention and Jones gave a sharp glance to the haphazardly barricaded door. He pulled on a T-shirt and some jeans before approaching it, quietly, to listen.

The sound carried on down the hallway, and slowly disappeared.

Jones released his held breathe and returned to his hammock, first grabbing the handheld radio to check and see if the girls could still communicate.

"Hey ladies? There's something bad down here where I am, be careful. Might be a special or something, it sounds big."

The only reply he got was the crackle-hiss of an empty channel and bad reception.

Jones threw the radio down and sulked back into his hammock.

* * *

"Is there?"

"Hello?!"

The sudden, startling sound shook Victor from his dreams, and he sat up, blearily fighting off whatever monster was coming his way this time, be it zombie or something much worse.

After a few minutes of clumsy flailing he realized it was the radio, and by then the voice had stopped talking.

Victor cursed.

His hands shakingly picked up the receiver to the police radio he'd jacked just the other day and tried to hail someone. His fingers must have hit the wrong button though, and with a simple beep, the radio started scrolling through channels, all of which eerily silent.

Victor shouted this time, shaking the thing before kicking it against the wall. He ran his hands through his rather greasy brown hair and clutched at it.

"Nice going Vic, lookit what you done this time!" He thrashed around on his cot.

"Stupid stupid stupid stupid! AUGH!"

He got up all at once and felt woozy. Bile built up in the back of his throat and he ran to the bathroom to vomit up what little food he'd scavenged in the past day.

He sat there, bowing to the throne, trying to recall exactly what he'd heard.

The gun store. A hotel nearby…a _car_.

Survivors with transportation. Survivors with food.

_Survivors_.

This couldn't simply be a tick of his mind. Couldn't possibly be a hallucination. Not this time.

He got up and left the room – and his mess – behind.

Victor wouldn't be alone. He had never really liked people but now he wouldn't be _alone_.

After he'd seen the world go to hell, after everyone he knew became rabid, scavenging demons, after all these days sitting alone knowing that he was the last somewhat sane person on this earth, there were _people_ out there.

Naturally, he grew suspicious. Could this be a trick? These people could be deranged, luring people like Vic to them only to…to…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, a headache beginning to form there. He was thinking too fast. He was being delusional. No time for that, no sir.

There were honest to god survivors out there, and if he didn't go meet with them he'd might as well die here.

It was an awful long walk though…

Vic shook himself and looked at his watch, which in all of his terrified adventures since the infection broke out, had shattered.

He hated when he zoned out like this; Minutes, hours, even once an entire day had passed him by whilst he was staring off into space. He needed to move now, or else he'd find a reason to stay here.

Forever.

He pried open the hatch to his little room and peered out below at the zombies milling aimlessly about. There weren't much here, but once he walked out they'd hear him. Specials would come. He'd be ground into a fine paste and feasted upon by the masses-

Oh right. He turned back into the room and grabbed his pistol.

He could probably kill enough to get to the hotel.

Maybe.

Why the hell not?

Victor slid out of the hatch in the bomb shelter and stood, all six feet of his pole-thin frame stood now in bright sunlight. His pasty white skin almost started sizzling.

His eyes, god, his eyes burned like the devil himself was pissing on his face but Vic narrowed his eyes and crept quietly towards the hotel.

The zombies were rather pleasant folk, once you knew how to hide and sneak around. As long as you didn't come into direct eye contact or make any loud noises, they minded their own business and Vic minded his. It was a given that eventually he had to shoot one, and then they'd all wake up out of their daze and come for him.

Vic held the pistol out in front of him as he walked slowly, quietly past. He was breathing rather shakily, though, and a few gravitated towards him out of mild curiosity.

Vic's pistol went off, once, twice, three times before he could fully contemplate the adverse affects of such a move. Only one zombie fell.

Dozens of others turned their heads to stare blankly at the intruder, and one by one he saw all of their mouths open, rotten, pitted teeth revealed between cracked, oozing grimacing lips.

Vic started running.

* * *

"That was bad luck, the cars being out of gas." McKayla tried once again to break the silence between them.

Kat was usually angry, but quiet and angry meant someone was going to get hurt. The ex-seal grunted in response, trudging up the street, eyes narrowed and squinting slightly as she scanned the barren streets.

As soon as a horde appeared she knelt down and fired until there were no more left. They'd escaped the main group in the courtyard easily enough, but ever since Kat had discovered the looted garage she'd killed every last zomie they'd encountered. She'd already spent all of the bullets in one of their automatics, and McKayla was worried.

"It isn't your fault that looters broke in. Anyone would've done so with times like they are..."

McKayla felt the heat of the taller woman's gaze turn to her and she shrank back. "I don't want to talk about it."

She had to say it, "Maybe if we'd gone outside every once in a while, kept our windows-"

Kat turned to the shorter girl. "Speak another word and I'll cut your good fer nothin tongue out, bitch."

They walked on in silence, McKayla pale, trying her hardest not to shake at the anger she felt from the woman.

Gunfire brought Kat's attention to the East, and while she was listening McKayla slipped in some zombie guts and began crying.

Kat turned back to the girl and gave her a withering look. This did nothing to stop her crying.

"Shut up! Do you want to draw _more_ to us? Get up and keep moving."

Kat hauled the woman up and shoved her forward.

McKayla was armed with a lightweight pistol of her own, the only thing Kat could get in her hands without too much protest. Honestly, the second the girl walked into combat she became a dithering pansy.

Kat couldn't blame her too badly, though. Not everyone could be prepared for the Green Flu and the monsters it created. The only problem was that usually those who were unprepared died off before they became a nuisance to other people.

"Oh to be that lucky."

"What?"

Kat shook her head, "Nothing."

The woman strode to the corner of the street before peeking around to scope out more infected. There weren't many, but Kat knew better.

Numbers were always plentiful when it came to the infected.

Well, might as well get this over with. Kat fired a shot from her own semi-auto rifle, and then the games began.

She shot at all of the zombies that were farther off before dealing with the closer ones sprinting at the two. McKayla spent four shots on one zombie and Kat grimaced, focusing her fire on doorways and other narrow outlets that the infected where streaming out of.

"HEY!"

Kat almost ignored the rich-girl's scream if not for the sound of a new horde approaching. She turned to see McKayla desperately firing at a crowd of oncoming zombies. In the very front, running for his life, Kat saw another survivor.

"What the-"

McKayla shrieked, "RUN KAT!"

The girl for once got the seal going as they sprinted away from the idiot leading the horde to them.

Kat drew a pipe bomb from her vest and tossed it behind.

They rounded another corner, firing at the monsters before them and leaving any stragglers to join in with the horde, staring at the pretty flashing and beeping bomb on the ground.

At the sound of the explosion Kat fired at any remaining infected and turned to face the direction they'd come, lowering to her knees and pointing the gun at the road.

The bomb seemed to have killed or crippled most of them, also her gun barrel was currently pressed into the survivor's navel.

He'd frozen, mouth working quickly, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please don't kill me I didn't do anything!"

Kat shoved the man away using the gun and growled, "Almost killed us, more like it. You've done plenty, move along."

McKayla stepped in, quickly, "Kat this isn't the time for your penis hatred, he's a survivor and we need to welcome him."

Kat glowered and snorted, "For the last time, I'm not-"

McKayla began talking to the man, passing around introductions and ignoring Kat completely. If anything, the girl knew how to talk and give some semblance of normalcy.

"I am McKayla DeClerke, dear sir, and my friend here is Kathryn Moore. She's always a bit grumpy but once you get to know her she's just like one of the guys. Also she's a seal so try anything funny and enjoy every finger in your hands being broken. What's your name?"

Kat fired at a straggling zombie. "Not the time McKayla. We're out in the open. You know…where the infected are."

The man looked confused too, "You were on the radio. I'm Victor…uh…Zchenko. I'm a doctor."

Kat's eyes flashed to him and suddenly she found that they needed this addition to the team.

"Hello Victor welcome to the group of survivors stupid enough to stand around, let's get going!"

She corralled them and marched them towards the hotel, determinedly shooting anything that moved and glaring at their objective.

* * *

Jones heard the gun fire and resulting explosion easily enough. He slid out of his hammock and grabbed the tire iron – not the best means of defense, but better than nothing.

"Danny…?"

He scowled, "No, that's stupid, even if they got the reference that's a weak name."

He unblockaded the door and peered outside the room. Nothing, for once. Maybe the commotion drew the zombies outside.

Jones strolled down the halls and reached the main lounge area. There were a few infected lying about but otherwise the crowds that usually waited in here were gone.

He circled the outside of the room, reaching a shattered window and stepping outside to the strangely deserted street.

"Jack's too common, John is just as bad…Evan? Ugh!" He muttered and sneered, "Why not just call yourself Mary and tell them all about your adventures with women's clothing?"

…

He turned around and spotted the survivors not a few yards away. For some strange reason there was a tall guy with them as well.

Jones bristled. He was rather short, shorter than one of the women, even, but having another guy so much taller than him…

_I need an imposing name, like…like Victor or Ivan!_

After scanning the road for signs of life the tall woman strode forward, pale green eyes sweeping over his frame.

She stopped a few feet in front of him, not lowering her weapon. "You the squirt who hailed us?"

He bared his teeth, "You the cold bitch who wasn't smart enough to gather food?"

The tension between them disappeared as she smiled, strangely pretty even for her rugged looks. "I'm Kat."

She didn't offer her hand, but Jones was rather relieved.

"Gonna get us out of the open where just about anything could pop out and kill us?"

Just then a garbled roar sounded from the hotel, and a monstrous figure came crashing out of not the open doorway or many shattered windows, but through the wall itself.

"TANK!" Kat bellowed and dropped her rifle to grab the shotgun strapped across her back.

Jones dove for the gun and lifted it to point at the monstrous Special.

The other girl screamed hysterically and fired at it, most rounds missing, while the tall guy shot more accurately with his own weapon.

The Tank charged at them, and they scattered, doing their best to outrun the muscle mass.

Kat and the other girl ran towards a nearby building, while the tall man dove behind a car. Jones ran to an abandoned kiosk, and apparently the Tank found his hiding place too meager to ignore.

The monster's enormous fists bashed into the wood panels, rending them to shards. Jones crouched low and leaped out of the way when the beasts fists slammed into the ground he had been occupying a few seconds earlier.

He darted out of the way of the second swing, but got caught unawares by the third.

The tremendous force of the impact cracked his ribs and threw him into the wall of a nearby building.

He lay there limp, listening to the sounds of the approaching beast and the shouts of the survivors. Gun fire bust over his head and he stared into the slack-jawed face of the Tank, who was raising its arm to crush his skull in, before closing his eyes and giving up.

* * *

"Shit shit shit shit shit."

As the Tank crumpled Kat ran forward and inspected the body before her. The kid was badly hurt, she could see it in the way his figure was flattened where his torso should be, and the strange geometry of his legs and arms. Blood was dribbling out of his mouth and there was a huge cut in the back of his head from the impact.

She checked to see if his back was broken, or if his skull was fractured before picking him up and running into the hotel.

McKayla was sobbing about the 'poor boy' and following as best she could. The fourth survivor was keeping pace with her, listing off things he would need to fix the kid.

"God we don't even know his name yet!"

Kat shot McKayla a dark look and searched for a secure area. In the back of the hotel was a laundry room, where it looked like the kid had been staying, but that place was strategically a poor decision. Further in she found a large kitchen area, and decided that this would have to do.

She set the kid on an industrial size metal countertop and turned to the doctor. "What do you need?"

The man seemed less nervous now, and more in control, "I need alcohol, bandages- cloth will do – fishing gut or thread, needles, aspirin, some (antibiotics) and…" He paused, "Pain pills."

Kat had expected those to be in the list, but the emphasis the doctor put on this item made her pause.

The kid coughed and blood spattered on his chest, forcing her to drop the suspicion and run to grab the supplies.

She motioned to McKayla, all qualms about their number going into a danger zone forgotten. The sound of gunfire echoed dimly down the halls as they sought something which no first aid kit could magically heal.

Victor listened to the boy's chest and tut-tut-tutted. One punctured lung.

Tricky, but not impossible. He had two options though; amputate the deflated lung or reinflate it.

This stuck him in an interesting predicament. If he went through surgery, the boy would be weak. Taking out the lung and he would be weak anyways.

"What do you think, kid?"

The boy, certainly no older than 20, damn young to be in this world, in Vic's opinion, moaned, slowly, painfully swimming in and out of consciousness. "We don't even know your name…"

Vic repeated the brunette's opinion with a slow shake of his head and a wringing of his hands. He bit his lip, craving a cigarette, and wishing he'd rationed his last pack with more foresight.

"Ic-Ic-Ictr." The boy coughed, blood bubbling between his lips.

Oh right. Keep the kid from drowning in his own blood. Vic needed to do that. He moved to incline the kid's feet, but the boy grabbed his arm, eyes wide in pain and dazed confusion. "Vi-ic-ic-tor."

Victor froze, wide eyes staring at the kid. "You know my name?"

The kid half-heard him, and called his name again. Vic shivered and tugged out of the kid's grasp and inclined his feet. He busied himself with running the sink and collecting a pot of water along with a few kitchen knives.

He was shaken, no one had called his name, especially not a _patient_ since-

Victor scrabbled at the cabinets, searching for something, _anything_ to ignore the croaks of the patient trying to breathe through a slow leak of blood. To drown out the sound of his name.

He found a blessedly full bottle of vodka (presumably for cooking) and swallowed a few shots before turning back to the now-full pot.

Vic didn't know the kid. He kept an annoyingly complete list of faces he knew, and faces that knew him. Word hadn't gotten out before the infection so the boy couldn't have heard of him before…

He dropped the pot he was holding as he heard a characteristic growl and the sound of ripping cloth.

"_Hunter."_

* * *

_Hey! Sorry for all the breaks, I'm recently getting used to writing like this. I rather like them...  
_

_ANYWAY! I really like the characters and hope you do too! I'm aiming for a weekly update on this one.  
_

_In fact, I'm hosting a small contest concerning them. I wrote this with no one's survival in mind. Once I organize things a bit better I'll be able to tell you, but let's say I pick one character off every four or so chapters. Tell me who you think is going to bite it and how.  
_

_Win and I'll write a little one-shot of any L4D pairing you choose. Hell, if you don't even want a pairing, just more Z-Dayz goodness! I can even draw a few of the characters for you, I'm not above pleasing anyone willing to put up with me with fan art. You may start now but as I said not much is organized at present.  
_

_Hm...I'll even go so far as to say this;  
_

_If you can guess who will be the last one alive, I will do something special...I don't know what yet, but I might let you decide on that one! ; ) As it goes, only one guess per person on each round, and one guess per person on who will survive!  
_

_Until the next chapter darlings!  
_

_-Zekkie  
_


	2. The Edge of Night

The figure was crouching over the boy on all fours, sniffing at the blood on the kid's face and chest. It growled again, but when the kid didn't move, it leaned down and lapped at the blood.

Vic's gun was still sitting across the room, in the direct path of the hunter. But it was only a matter of time before the thing took a bite out of the easy kill.

The kid shivered at the feel of the hunter's tongue on his cheek and weakly tried to push it away, eliciting an ear-piercing bark from the thing. It growled menacingly and bunched its shoulders, baring its teeth and raising one clawed hand to attack the wounded human.

Victor wasted no time in throwing the pot at the zombie. He did waste a bit of time staring dumbly at his hand afterwards, wondering just exactly what is was he was on to think that he could survive the infected impending wrath.

The hunter let out a yelp and hissed, crawling over the boy and slowly approaching Vic, still scuttling on all fours like a dog. Victor backed against the counter, searching for another weapon, any weapon…His hand found the bottle of vodka.

"No…please…anything but the booze."

The Hunter rocked from side to side, preparing to pounce.

Victor heard himself sobbing as he slammed the bottle onto the counter, shattering the glass and wasting the precious fermented potato-nectar.

He brandished the bottle at the Hunter as it leaped. At the same time a burst of gunfire ripped the infected clothes. Vic's face was splattered with dark brown partially coagulated blood and the rotting flesh of the monster as it fell to the ground.

Kat stood in the doorway, face lit by a grin – or was she baring her teeth? The smoking muzzle of the gun was trained on Victor. "It bite ya?"

He shook his head no and she snorted. "Then get off yer ass and fix the kid."

A pack was thrown at his feet and as he stepped up to help the still-choking kid Kat disappeared into the hall again, bringing with her a few large pieces of furniture.

McKayla stood next to him, "I can help if you need me to."

He stared at the earnest face, eager to please, and eager to help and he smiled. "Okay then."

He leaned over the body and rifled through the pack, producing some malt-whiskey. Well…it was alcohol…Victor grabbed a kitchen knife, washed it in the alcohol and got to work.

McKayla joined Kat in barricading the door not a few moments later. Her face was pale, and her hands shook as she stabilized the dresser Kat was currently attempting to jam against the door.

"Too much for you?"

The girl nodded, lip quivering. "Do you think he's gonna die?"

Just then, brought closer to consciousness from the pain, the kid started screaming. The sound was garbled, and strangely bestial.

There was a thrashing sound behind them and Victor cursed. "I need _someone_ to help me hold him down!"

The girl was shaking, so Kat stood to help the doctor. "He wasn't bitten was he?"

The doctor took a long time to answer, struggling to resume cutting into the boy's throat. Kat handed him a tube she'd cut off of a sink. Not the cleanest solution but she'd rinsed It out and now the doctor ran the whiskey through the tube before drying and prepping it to insert into the boy's windpipe.

He handed Kat a dishtowel, "Can you press down on his chest – Gently! Very gently! – while I…"

He trailed off, lost in thought. Kat pressed on the kid's chest, causing him to scream again.

Victor cursed, "He needs to stop that."

Kat slammed her fist on the side of the kid's head and he fell silent, all except the crackling sound of his labored breath.

The doctor regarded her with his grey eyes, and then shrugged, "One way to do it I guess."

He started cutting into the chest itself and McKayla retched at the sawing sound.

Kat shot her a dark look, "Don't puke."

McKayla cast a longing look to the freezer, "Can't I hide in there where I don't have to hear-"

The seal hissed, "You have to watch the door! They'll smell the blood soon."

The girl turned back to the fortifications, humming to herself.

The doctor was digging about in the boy's chest, and he grabbed a basting syringe from the pile of supplies he'd gathered from around the kitchen.

"This is so make-do." He chuckled.

Kat stared at the tall man, auburn hair falling into his eyes as he drew the air out of the chest cavity, clearing the area of blood and with a sudden gasp, inflating the kid's lung.

One rib had cracked and hit his lung, point still lodged in his organ, keeping the air pressure constant. Victor sighed and looked about for something to fix it with, while McKayla let out a whimper.

"Guys? I heard something on the other side…"

Kat looked at the doctor and he waved her away. "Go take care of it. I can do the rest."

As Kat picked up her weapon she heard him give a shaky sigh, "I hope."

* * *

McKayla was shoved aside as Kat came over to check the door, shifting some of the weight blocking it to peer outside. She huffed, but as usual the gruff woman ignored her.

"Excuse me, I think it's time you stopped treating me like I'm-"

Those dark brown eyes turned to hers, "Like you're baggage? Like you're in the way?"

McKayla felt her face heat up, "Like you hate me!"

Kat turned back to the door, "If I hated you, I would have left you where you were in the mall. You at most are a distraction."

McKayla felt her anger boiling over; she gritted her teeth and fought to keep her voice from squeaking as she hissed, "Well I can do things on my own! No need to think of me that way. I was my idea to come out here in the first place! Without me, you'd be-"

"I'd be safe at home in my ammo store, havin twice the rations and fewer qualms about something as superfluous as hygiene in an incredibly hostile scenario." Her dark eyes turned to the doctor, who seemed busy cramming stick after stick of gum into his mouth while fretting over the wheezing patient. "The kid would also be healthy, more or less safe in this slipshod hideout of his."

McKayla flinched, and balled her fists, "At least I did something! Now we have more numbers, more food, and aren't holed up in that stagnant hole you called an ammo store! You're personality is shit! No wonder you were alone before we met, and your brother-"

"Shit! Look at all this bl-blood! He's destabilizing!" The doctor held up bloodied hands and called, "I need some help over here!"

McKayla rushed over to the counter, argument forestalled. What she saw was the kid, sewn up nice and neat, and the doctor, hand horribly cut by his own knife, cleaning it with antiseptic.

He pointed to her with his filleted finger, "Hold the wrist down will you? This is gonna smart."

Kat hoisted her gun and slid through the barrier, "I'm going to patrol the area."

Victor started stitching his hand while McKayla held it still.

They sat in silence for a moment, broken only by the doctor's hisses and the boy's pained breathing.

"In times like these, every ally we can get is another day we live."

McKayla didn't answer; she lowered her eyes and focused on holding his wrist.

"If you feel like everyone thinks you're worthless, and then prove them wrong, don't argue."

She sighed, "But-"

The Doctor held up his newly stitched hand, "I'm not telling you this because I'm a caring man who hates to see friends fight. I'm saying this because if you keep arguing with her, eventually I'll be asked to pick a side."

He flexed his fingers and grunted his approval. "And I'll pick the one who will help me live the longest, not the girl still entertaining ideas of common human decency. That, miss, is a thing of the past."

McKayla bit her lip, "This isn't right."

He rifled through the cabinets, searching for food or alcohol, it wasn't really clear by all his muttering and grumblings. His fingers skittered over shelves and knocked against bottles of oil.

The boy started moaning, writhing and clutching at his chest.

She moved to his side, "Is he gonna be okay?"

Victor shrugged, but she wasn't looking at him, and it went unnoticed. "I gave him some antibiotics so it should heal. He shouldn't move for a few days though, shouldn't run or exert himself for a week at the least."

The boy's face was wretched with pain, and he tried lifting his hands to weakly claw at his stitches.

"Did you give him the pain pills we found?"

Victors reply was quick, and short, "Yes, of course I did."

She touched his face and found the skin burning to the touch. "Looks like he's got fever."

Victor returned to the boy's side and rifled through the bag of supplies. He produced some aspirin and fished out the antibiotics again. She watched him as he drew out the pills, which seemed to make him nervous.

"Watch the door, will you?"

She turned towards the door, but not after spying on him as he crushed the aspirin and blew the powder up the kid's nose and got to work on the antibiotic capsules.

She watched the door, frowning slightly.

* * *

Victor finished treating the kid and sat back, sighing. The two girls were already at each others throats, and he knew which one he'd back should they decide to split, or worse.

It wasn't fair, the girl was right, but he'd decided on the lives of others before in the hospital, and choosing life over poking the bad-tempered warrior with a sharp stick any day.

His jaw ached somewhat from all of the gum he'd frantically been chewing, and his hand ached from the cut to it.

It'd been…he wasn't really sure, actually whether it had been an accident or an overreaction to the tension between the two women. He'd…he'd just…

Slipped.

He growled and tugged at his short hair. No…no no. Not that word.

He'd lost it.

That was worse.

Victor had done what had only been sensible for about two seconds, and by then it had been too late to use his words.

Damn it, if he kept acting so crazy no one would trust him again. Calm down, keep it together, hold her steady, and think back on all you've learned. You can do that can't you Vic?  
Just dont

Slip.

He flinched and hummed desperately to distract himself, and failed. He saw McKayla shooting him worried glances and he stammered, "It helps me think, sorry if I was bothering you...not that I'm assuming, I'd hate to assume...uh..."

You're Slipping.

"Just don't mind me, miss, he'll be right as pain, er, rain..."

The girl nodded in that reassuring way that people treated the insane and turned back to the door.

"Never good with words, were you, Vic?" He chuckled to himself, and as the hour passed he watched the boy slowly stir to life.

* * *

Kat strode out of the room, gun at ready, and eyes scanning for movement, any movement. Her finger squeezed the trigger softly, finding comfort in the weight of the weapon and its metal grips in her hands. Back when killing meant ending sentient life she'd been rather hesitant to fire at a living thing. She'd train and had ended many lives to preserve her own, but now her weapon was more of an extension of her arm. She didn't go anywhere without it readied, and she rarely felt the security to protest the treatment of her victims.

Victim wasn't the right word, really. Aggressors? What did that make all of those hobbling zombies she'd left behind? Pre-emptive strikes were a difficult category…and even then she'd shot them out of entertainment.

A sob interrupted her thoughts and Kat froze, waiting for it to come again, so that she could pinpoint the source.

Damn, it was dark, but she didn't dare turn on her flashlight.

The sob came again, followed by a moan, and she saw a pale figure stumbling towards the reception area, hands over her bloodied face.

Kat knew better than to try to help the woman, but this situation left her dumbfounded. An infected? Crying? What…?

She followed, at first, hesitantly, and then she realized the white-haired zombie didn't react too much, and as long as she was quiet she could follow at her leisure.

It was a rather careless type of zombie, in her opinion. Perhaps it's a new special.

She wasn't impressed.

Many of the women joining the navy didn't cry, and if they did, they either dropped out of boot camp or stopped crying. Being so consumed with whatever was making this infected cry was sloppy, and she theorized that it was an easy kill.

Those enormous claws the thing had worried her though, and she followed at a safe distance, worried more and more about the empty streets as she walked out of the hotel and back towards the gun shop.

The zombie didn't like bright lights, and stuck to the shadows, moaning and crying, and occasionally singing.

Kat trained her rifle on the infected as she followed it back to the square, ready to shoot it the second the thing tried to attack, or when she got bored, whichever.

But...she couldn't drop the suspicion that the zombie was…talking. She couldn't make out the words…but every few choked sobs the thing would say something…or she thought so.

They were almost back to the gun store when she heard gunfire in the mechanics garage down the street.

The pale infected walked to an alleyway and sat down, still sobbing quietly to herself, and speaking more of those almost-words.

Kat retreated across the street and hid herself in one of the abandoned trucks. When she'd first evacuated her garage in favor of the gun store she'd seen some supplies in the truck, and shot out the window to get it.

The alarm went off and she hadn't been able to leave the store for days due to all of the infected swarming everywhere. Eventually the battery died, though, and the vehicle had gone silent.

Kat jumped in the bed in back and crouched down out of sight, peering over the side towards the garage.

Survivors.

She felt a flash of incredulity. This was too good to be true. Four more survivors, totaling 6 more people in this lifeless city in one day. This made her wary, but she couldn't simply approach them, so she watched from afar.

They'd tried raiding the garage for supplies, and failed. She'd already cleaned the place out. No doubt they'd go to the gun store next, similarly gutted of anything of use.

McKayla had suggested that they leave stuff behind just in case there were more survivors but Kat had been quick to point out how stupid that idea was.

It was still a stupid idea, even considering that there were more survivors.

She watched as they explored the gun store, and eventually exited back into the street.

All of the infected seemed to be going to them, rather than bother with her own group in the hotel. For that, Kat was grateful, even if the group appeared to be rather ragged.

One man wielding a shotgun started up the street towards her, and towards the strange white infected.

Once he was closer, she risked standing up to wave at them. Immediately a bullet zoomed past her head and Kat suppressed the urge to scream at them.

Instead she raised her gun in the air, pointed up, and waved again.

The group noticed her and approached closer, weapons at ready.

"Hey, watch out, there is a weird one over there." She pointed to the alley.

The man with the shotgun crept close to examine it while the other three eyed her suspiciously.

"You three need a safe place to stay?"

The woman in the pink jacket nodded. Their silence was irking her, but she continued, "That gun store is pretty well defended, but no supplies."

Kat tracked the man as he crept closer, and as he stepped in line with the alleyway she heard a panic-inducing growl. With a shriek, a hunter leapt from the rooftop and slammed into the man's back, driving him to the ground, and causing the white infected to emit a shriek.

She got up and the hunter leaped away, leaving the survivors to face her wrath alone.

Kat ducked back into the truck bed, watching with wide eyes as she slashed the man open with frightening speed, before she could aim at the thing it sprinted to the remaining three and began attacking them. Gunfire spattered about, but she heard another of the survivors shriek in pain as they were ripped asunder y those horrifying claws.

She aimed the gun over the side of the truck and fired…well…she tried to…

The infected screamed again and she was reminded of the shriek of mortars, the screams of disembodied men as their boat, as their lifeboats were torn apart by bullets. The men swimming for shore hadn't screamed.

They'd gurgled as the ocean swallowed them whole.

She was staring at the woman in the jacket. Her chest was torn open, and she burbled weakly, blood not oozing, but sloshing from between her lips. Her chest was oddly flat; the lungs themselves compressed under all of the blood and mulched viscera.

Kat spotted the infected mauling one of the others, the last man standing shooting frantically at the woman with a pistol, his other weapon spent and useless.

The infected turned her attention to the only ambulatory survivor remaining. Kat fired off a round at the woman, finally, and focused on the bitch's head.

The infected finished killing the other man and turned to glare at Kat. Kat again heard the tearing of metal as the ship was torn apart by gunfire and explosives. The screams of those falling into the water or clinging to the sinking ship…

She fired as the infected ran towards her, and finally, blessedly, the infected crumpled.

Kat kept firing, the roar of planes and the rush of cold, pacific water coming up to meet her. Her limbs were heavy, she couldn't swim…

The weapon in her hands clicked emptily. The body of the infected was obliterated, bullets having torn her into pieces.

Kat took a shaky breath, and calmed the fuck down. She tried to, at least.

There were threats, and this new infected, of which she hadn't seen before, was worrisome. Maybe one of the others had seen it before.

Kat got to work, face grim, and the sounds of ocean waves haunting her as she walked towards the carnage lining the desolate street.

* * *

Kat being gone for all this time worried him, but he hadn't heard gunshots, or any activity from the infected, actually. He wondered whether or not that was a good thing. The other girl, the smaller brunette was getting worried; he could see her fidgeting from here.

"Victor."

He jumped, startled, and spotted the boy, still pretty out of it, talking to him.

Calling your name.

Vic's hands shook as he fished a bottle out of his pocket and took two of the pills from it, swallowing them dry as he regarded the boy.

He tried convincing himself that the kid had merely heard his name called by one of the girls. He failed.

Vic decided to believe that false-truth anyway.

But inside he cringed whenever the kid said it.

"Yes, hello, how are you feeling? What's your name?"

The kid's eyes rolled around in his head rather drunkenly, the antibiotics and pain pills still addling his brains.

"Victor."

Vic sighed, "Yes that's my name, what's yours?"

The kid looked extremely confused, but before he could speak more the woman burst through the barriers. She looked fine but there was a harried look in her eyes. A pack was slung over her back, bustling with more supplies.

Vic stared at the bag, "Where did you…?"

She spoke, voice grave, "There were other survivors."

The finality in her tone made the room fall silent. Victor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What happened?"

Kat told them.

Vic fumbled at his pocket, fingers searching for cigarettes which were no longer there. He felt the craving eating away at his stomach. "That was a witch."

McKayla looked, wide eyed at him, "You've seen one? I mean, we've only seen hunters and tanks, and smokers…and this weird cackling thing…"

Vic nodded, "Witches are rare. They cry and don't really bother people until a loud noise or bright light startles them. They slaughter anyone around…"

He realized his fingers were drumming on the table, and he folded his hands in his lap.

Kat shook herself, and muttered, "Sunset is approaching, and I have work to do on our doorways." She got up and robotically got to work stacking blockades at the doors.

McKay wrapped her arms around herself and approached the increasingly conscious kid.

"You said there was food here?"

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded, "In the freezer and pantry." His arm wobbled as he pointed in no particular direction. "What happened?"

Victor stood and felt the kid's forehead. No fever. Thank god.

"You were injured. I fixed you."

The kid grumbled, "Sure doesn't feel like it. Are…are these stitches?!"

Victor slapped the kids hands away as he reached up to pick at them, "Don't touch and don't move. Doctor's orders."

The kid snarled, then winced, and more quietly spoke, "I can't lay here for however long it takes to heal! This is cold! And don't ever muck around with my insides again..it's…it's."

He shivered, staring fearfully at the threaded x's marking his chest. "It hurts, can I get some pills or something? You don't look like a doctor! Where's your license? Who said you could do this?"

From across the room, Kat cursed, "Dammit."

Vic shot her a confused look and turned back to the kid, "We'll get something soft for all of us to sleep on. You were camped…where? And I think saving your life deserves some respect."

The dark haired boy scowled, "Laundry room, just down the hall."

Victor glanced at McKayla and she darted through the doors to go retrieve the bedding and blankets that would last them through the night.

He chuckled, already they were acting more like a team…crazy situations like these were bound to pull some weird pack-mind from the base of their dna.

"So what's your name?"

The kid was caught off guard. "What?"

Victor drummed his fingers on the table, intent on the person who'd somehow known who he was. Maybe he'd recognize this kid's name. "My name is Victor, what is yours?"

Dread flashed across the kid's face, and Victor's suspicions flared; he had to know Vic's past. It was the only explanation.

"Shit…uh…my name?"

The kid was balking, which was even worse, Victor growled, softly, starting to get annoyed…and scared. "Yeah, your name."

"My names…my names…" The kid was obviously panicking, trying to make up a fake name.

Vic slammed his fist on the table, "I'm just asking you your name you nitwit!"

The kid stammered out, "Jones! It's Jones okay?! God!"

Both looked away from each other, both cursing under their breath,

"Shit."

* * *

_I liked this chapter despite Jone's lack of involvement. _

_Um…anyone looking at the medical references, don't try any of it or even take anything I say concerning gore for factual. I know things are kinda weird but this is coming from a game where a health kit can heal EVERYTHING. Also; a game about zombies._

_Whatever, I figured since most survivors were scattered about not all of them would know about some of the specials. I know I go through levels without finding the witch and stuff. : (_

_The character's backstories thicken…kinda._

_Well it's official, only two chapters left. Submit your guesses or muse about them to yourself. I bet you never see it coming._

_Happy Labor Day!_

_-Zekkie_


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